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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29935140">Small-town boy in a big arcade</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iceshard1011/pseuds/Iceshard1011'>Iceshard1011</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series), Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(i suppose?), (only slightly from an Undertale perspective), Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Creatures &amp; Monsters, Angst and Tragedy, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders-centric, Drabble, Gen, Hurt Logic | Logan Sanders, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mild Language, Panic Attacks, Protective Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Spoilers - Undertale Genocide Route, Undertale Genocide Route, usually don't post things like this but had An Urge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:48:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29935140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iceshard1011/pseuds/Iceshard1011</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Virgil did not like it one bit. Virgil was fed up. Fed up from the tips of his fuzzy, triangle ears, to the end of his long, ever-flicking black-furred tail.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>He kicked open the door before him.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>“Logan, you daft nerd, what have you done now?” he shouted out into the quiet house.</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anxiety | Virgil Sanders &amp; Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Small-town boy in a big arcade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>An alternate universe of Toby Fox’s video game Undertale.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Virgil had had <em>enough.</em></p><p>Now, he considered himself a patient monster. He had already put up with so much bullshit in his young, growing life that he liked to think that he had built up a fairly strong tolerance of… just about everything. From dealing with children to complaining elders to adults shrieking at a single inconvenience, Virgil had pretty much seen everything. (At least, everything there was to see down here, where not much at all ever happened.)</p><p>Still, even then, his heightened senses still suffered often, no matter how much he wanted to appear untouchable from the outside. The bright, colourful noises in town made his shoulders shudder, and his brother’s constant singing grated on his nerves. It made his fur stand on end, and his tail twitch even as he tried to stifle the movement of obvious irritation.</p><p>Still.</p><p>Virgil prided himself on the fact that he had never once let anything as petty as mild aggravation overshadow his common sense. Besides “Anxiety,” Common Sense was practically his middle name. If he had a last name in the first place. Which he didn’t — monsters didn’t have last names. Only humans had come up with that silly tactic, because their bland minds had no creative ability to conjure unique names.</p><p>
  <em>(Virgil’s head throbbed, he shouldn’t know that, how did he — humans had never ventured down this far, how could he possibly —)</em>
</p><p>Virgil physically shook himself from his own thoughts.</p><p>This, though…</p><p>This was different.</p><p>The newcomer had rubbed Virgil the wrong way the moment they had ignored his greeting in the blanketed forest. Then their blanks stares, the odd dull <em> emptiness </em> inside them, the absence of thrumming life that monsters had, and completely ignoring anything anyone said.</p><p>Virgil did not like it one bit. Virgil was fed up. Fed up from the tips of his fuzzy, triangle ears, to the end of his long, ever-flicking black-furred tail.</p><p>He kicked open the door before him.</p><p>“Logan, you daft nerd, what have you done now?” he shouted out into the quiet house.</p><p>His claws flexed, itching to give his friend a piece of his mind. He knew the stranger had come from Logan’s place; the poor sod always seemed to be on some delusional mission to protect any small one that stumbled near his home looking remotely lost.</p><p>When Logan did not respond to him as he normally would, Virgil hissed and stalked into the living room. He glared at the empty chair. The fireplace was dead. The room was void of any smell of smoke. The coals were cold and lifeless. Virgil prowled into the kitchen, and found that annoyingly silent too.</p><p>“Logan!” he called, retreating back into the hallway, his tail starting its telltale twitch. When he found that goddamn scientist…</p><p>But there was no such luck. One by one, Virgil peered into the rooms, searching each bedroom, and each time finding nothing. Slowly, against his will, Virgil’s heartbeat began to pick up, knocking against his ribs like it was testing for weak spots to escape through.</p><p>“Hello?” His voice echoed.</p><p>Logan’s bedroom was empty.</p><p>“Logan?”</p><p>The library was empty.</p><p>Virgil found himself back in the living room. His tongue felt dry, and when he tried to swallow back at the lump rising for his mouth, it got stuck in his tacky throat. Logan <em>never</em> left his house. Virgil had known him for twenty years — more, really — and not once had Logan <em> ever </em> left his room.</p><p><em> Perhaps he’s messing with the gateway, </em> Virgil thought. It didn’t sound convincing, but it was something more than he had already tried.</p><p>Paw steps silent and light as if he were treading on freshly fallen snow, Virgil padded back through the house. He tasted the air. There was… <em>something </em> down there, but Virgil wasn’t sure what. It didn’t really smell of Logan. Logan was paper and wood and warm smoke from a winter’s fireplace. Logan wasn’t… musty.</p><p>He crept down the staircase, peering into the darkness. It was far too quiet.</p><p>“Pocket Protector?” His voice rang out. It echoed back to him. It was distorted and heavy and carried an impossible amount of loneliness with it. <em> “Logan?” </em></p><p>The portal was open. It was <em> open… </em>but it was silent. Virgil frowned at it. He sniffed again. Something on the floor caught his attention.</p><p>There was scattered, dusty powder staining the carpet.</p><p>There was a pair of glasses amongst it.</p><p>Virgil’s heart stopped in its poorly conceived escape attempt. It stopped altogether.</p><p>
  <em> Logan…? </em>
</p><p>Virgil was trembling. He reached out a shaking hand but couldn’t bring himself to actually <em>touch</em> the awful substance. He knew what it was anyway.</p><p>
  <em> Oh… </em>
</p><p>Virgil reared back, his nose assaulted with the smell of <em> family </em> and <em> fear </em> and <em> death. </em> His throat closed up, choking him. The glasses glinted accusingly up at him, as if blaming him for their absence of movement, absence of purpose.</p><p>Logan was dead. Logan had been <em> killed… </em></p><p>That stranger. The newcomer. The Not-Human. Virgil’s stomach flopped like a dying bird. This stranger was not just a nuisance. Not just someone who grated Virgil’s nerves. They were an intruder. A <em> murderer.</em></p><p>There was a reason Snowdin had been so quiet as Virgil had travelled through it. A reason the lights had been shut off, the pub closed, the doors all locked. There had been a reason Virgil’s instincts had been screaming at him every time he looked at the strange creature.</p><p><em> “Odd little monster,” </em>had been the first thing Roman had said, dubious, once he and Virgil had retreated from earshot, the snowflakes tugging at their clothes and tickling their noses.</p><p>Virgil stumbled back, fear freezing his muscles. <em> Roman. </em></p><p>His moronic brother and his ridiculous, stupid quest to <em>capture</em> a damned human — that human <em>look-alike. </em>He was going to get his stupid, pompous, fluffy ass killed.</p><p>Grief saw the glasses and wailed in Virgil’s bones, but now panic ate away at his mind and corroded his muscles. Virgil whirled around and shot upstairs. He was a mere black blur against the snow as he streaked out toward the confrontation on the other side of the town.</p><p>He wasn’t going to make it. He knew that.</p><p>But he could tear the abomination to pieces for it.</p>
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